After Work

[bortleman]

Black smoke rises from the red bricks of a dying society, and it stains the fading blue sky that hangs low over the crippled monuments of men, weighted down by deceit and ill flavored hope, a hope that neither quenches nor fills the promise of redemption. Sirens beep like the world’s dialysis faintly above the clamor of cars threatening to riot, mobbed on the interstate. Two tattered and torn youths stand in dismay with dark soot faces as black draped respondents wisp swiftly past them through the debris filled winds of smoke, like wraiths. Holding a dirty well worn sputtering hose they hurl fire retardant like curses towards towering wreckage that laughs in rebuke as it rises with malice. The earth turns a cold shoulder as angry on-lookers beat the horns of their vehicles. They all slide away as they are consumed in a whirl-wind of hate manifested of a place overburdened by the moral debt that takes to the sky with long fingers stretching to encompass and consume even the farthest corners of the earth. Trial by fire. Fire, that which will dive into the murky sea of cities and permeate society entirely. Sad women, cleaning to the tune of sad music orchestrated by the dawning of darkness, tiresomely cleaning dirty windows with the front page of yesterday’s newspaper: “Yes we can!” As weary men march home from the work front of the world with their overcoats and brief cases dangling from their fingertips slung low at their side, the sky cracks a whip of lightning pressing them on. Sauntering up a cold rust iron staircase they stoop low and shaky to grasp the newspaper with withered hands. The soggy front page reads weakly “Can we?” as they squeak the shoddy door open, graciously drop their things, and collapse onto their armchair. Daylight ebbs away as a plague of darkness races over the world and drops the killing blow on the last fingers of light clawing at the cliff face of the edge of the world. The moon vainly rears its head, crowning itself at the apex of the sky. The dim light shrouded by shadow sickly reminds the foul workings of evil that a new era is upon them. Whispers of neon lights beckon the depressed out of their homes with grasping shriveled fingers. Soft lies of happiness and love lure them deep in a coma of dazzle as they stare on with vacant faces that mischievous light dances across in a smoke filled and eerily dark pit of a room.

[bortleman]

Any feedback, let me re-phrase: ANY feedback is welcome.

[Jack of Hearts]

Congratulations on your first post. Not a bad piece, definitely different.

There's a great deal of imagery here that can be rather daunting to deal with. This is this reader's biggest issue with it. However, in the rambled musings, there is a degree of style- these run ons aren't technical errors but intentional and it's interesting. Indirectly and obtusely it reminds the reader of Henry Miller or Burroughs.

Keep posting.


J

[hillwalker]

Rather like an over-spiced meal, this was tasty but a little difficult to digest. Although you introduce some very interesting images you don't allow the reader time to focus on them because there's another one following on its heels. And some of the statements you tie to their tails are rather pompous and self-absorbed.

There's a lot of good stuff here but the metaphors need winnowing - and the social commentary is better taking a back seat.

Just to illustrate - the long long long opening sentence..... hardly one to hook the reader :

Black smoke rises from the red bricks of a dying society, and it stains the fading blue sky that hangs low over the crippled monuments of men, weighted down by deceit and ill flavored hope, a hope that neither quenches nor fills the promise of redemption.

red bricks of a dying society - is a little off (society is more of an abstract concept so employing bricks to portray it doesn't work for me)

weighted down by deceit and ill favoured hope - wow, this actually weighted down the entire sentence, and tells the reader nothing

and as if that isn't enough, you continue to analyse the nature of hope.

Pontificating in such a way makes for rather unpleasant reading. But if you insist on making statements of such gravity then at least you need to set some basis for making them first. There's very little here that shows how society is suffering its death throes.

And when we finally do get to the meat of the piece the style you employ is still rather too self-conscious.

Daylight ebbs away as a plague of darkness races over the world and drops the killing blow on the last fingers of light clawing at the cliff face of the edge of the world.

Too too much. Over-writing like this dilutes every attempt you make to paint some colour onto the canvas. It's as if you are unsure that a single description or metaphor is adequate so you throw in another three or four. You obviously enjoy writing, but perhaps you need to curb these flourishes and try to write a little more succinctly.

H